


Chasing Fate

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Romance, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In pre-war Harad, Marjan lives a life of lavish comfort in the palace as daughter of one of the king's advisors. But as her world is slowly turned upside-down upon the arrival of a mysterious foreigner, she finds herself in the middle of the biggest political mystery Middle Earth has yet seen. Filled with traitors and lovers, deception and lies, riddles and adventure, the world Marjan has always known will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

“Think of it this way. If we get caught, you can just say you were cleaning up there and I wouldn’t stop bothering you.”  
  
“It’s just not a good idea, Marjan. You know that they wouldn’t listen to me.”  
  
“Fine. I’d tell them.”  
  
“And what happens when they ask who I got the orders from? No one in their right mind would send someone to clean the omezzine. The only person that ever goes in there is Old Parsa, and you remember what happened to the last slave they sent there?”  
  
Marjan grimaced at the memory, but then shrugged and said, “At least the river was deep. And he didn’t drown, did he?”  
  
“No,” replied Sima, tucking a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear, “I dunno what happened to him. Some say he did drown. Others swear they saw him swim over to the harbor and stow away on a ship to The North.”  
  
A shudder of cold ran down Marjan’s spine. She’d personally never been to The North, or even met anyone that had - other than the emperor, of course, but it was forbidden for her to speak to him about anything so informal as that. And so The North remained a terrifying mystery to her. An ever-looming presence she couldn’t shake off. Marjan could not imagine why any person, even a slave, would prefer the freezing wastes of The North to the Harad.  
  
She shook her head in a mixture of wonder and disapproval, and saw that Sima was doing the same. The North. Honestly. It just wasn’t done.  
  
“MARJAN!”  
  
Marjan turned to see her older sister Movareed strutting towards them, a gown of silk bustling and flowing out behind her.  
  
“Marjan,” she said again, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with her, “Whäea tonu rite ki körero ki koe tika’tu.”  
  
One last look at a shrugging Sima was all Marjan got. She knew why Movareed was speaking in the royal tongue. She believed that slaves should not know the business of nobility, but her head was too big to realize that, living around nobility and royalty their entire lives, palace slaves were bound to pick up on a word or two.  
  
“Movareed, I’m not a child,” she protested, breaking free of her sister’s bone-crushing grip.  
  
Continuing her pace without so much as a glance back, Movareed replied, “Then stop behaving like one, Marjan. Honestly, I cannot believe that you are still consorting with slaves. It was perfectly acceptable when you were younger, but you are seventeen years old now. It’s really time for you to enter society and mingle with actual people.”  
  
“Well excuse me, Wahine Nahid,” she said sarcastically putting to use her sister’s married name, “I apologise if I don’t measure up to your high standards, but I rather enjoy the company I keep. Now do you have any idea what this urgent business Mother wants to see me about is?”  
  
Movareed hesitated a moment, but then let the subject drop before replying, “Not the slightest. Arsalan wouldn’t tell me either, but he said it was because I would go into an excited flurry, so I expect there’s to be a party or something.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Marjan muttered.  
  
A party. There was always a party of some sort going on. In a sense, palace life was just one big party. And what happened at those parties? Things went nicely enough until the men retired to the smoking room, where their arohinas entertained them, the younger men got absolutely drunk, and the girls sat and gossiped viciously.  
  
So very exciting.  
  
For the rest of the journey through the never-ending maze of corridors and indoor boulevards that created the palace, Marjan and Movareed walked in silence. Finally they reached their mother’s apartments, and the heavy door, decorated by jade, turquoise, and pearls, opened to let them in.  
  
Marjan rather disliked coming into these rooms. Her mother, Wahine Lenfar, had a rather terrible love of incense and aromatic candles, and therefore her rooms were always filled with smoke and an awful clash of smells. She didn’t favor light much, either, and so there was silk cloth over ever lamp to muffle to light, and the curtains were forever drawn.  
  
Her mother was sitting at a desk writing a letter, and did not look up as her two daughters entered the room, and so they just stood there until she finished her letter, finally looked up, and then motioned for them to sit.  
  
“Marjan,” she began, her deep voice slightly cracking from lack of usage, “Take a good look at your sister. She is married to a good husband, has born two sons with another one on the way, manages a household of seventeen slaves, three cooks, and two stable boys, and does this all with perfect grace. In my opinion, she is the epitome of a perfect wife.”  
  
She could see her sister turning slightly red, even with the lack of light. If it were not for her dread of what her mother would say next, she might have laughed.  
  
“You have long since been of age to marry,“ she continued, “Perhaps you resent the fact that it took so long for your father and I to find a suitable husband for you, but you must understand that we simply wanted to find the perfect match for you - “  
  
Or, in other words, someone with enough wealth and influence. She had heard enough already.  
  
“I’m pleased to tell you that we’ve found a perfect match, and you will meet him at tonight’s gala. It’s a welcoming feast. A political party from Gondor is coming because the emperor hopes to make peace treaties or some other rubbish of the sort. Now, Marjan, I’ve received word that the gown you lent to Haideh Talma appears far beyond repair, so you'll have to wear the new one Ghezalla Ima's girl brought yesterday. It's not ideal, but you'll have to make do. And Movareed, you must wear a looser corset. Are you trying to kill that child?”  
  
Marjan didn’t hear a word. She was busy trying to devise ways to escape the bomb that had just been dropped.


End file.
